


Toriko Ficlets

by Semianonymity



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:26:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semianonymity/pseuds/Semianonymity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short Toriko ficlets from prompts given to me on Tumblr. Ratings, pairings and warnings listed in the notes of each chapter, and feel free to make your own prompt!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Komatsu/Sunny/Zebra - Holding Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from VV: "i don’t know anything about toriko but it’s the fandom with the ot12 right? so komatsu holding hands w/ two of their Rom Ants."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Komatsu/Sunny/Zebra, no warnings apply, kissing and holding hands.

Komatsu was a little crowded in-between Sunny and Zebra. And technically, the three of them had rented out the whole train car; there was no reason for them to all be sitting so close. But Zebra had sat down, glaring at Sunny and Komatsu half like a dare (and, Komatsu had thought, a little upset, half like he was afraid, only Zebra always hid his fear in anger—he’d had to learn that, getting to know him. And Sunny always made him worse). And then Sunny had sat down a seat away, even though—well, Sunny and Zebra got along like—honestly, they didn’t get along at all.

Sunny had looked pointedly away from the empty seat in-between them, face blank and perfect, like a cat showing exactly how uninterested it was in the proceedings. Zebra had glowered at the floor, less like a cat and more like a maybe-dormant volcano, fingers pressing into the muscle of his thigh. They were famed across the whole world for their violence, their strength, and known for being unapproachable, and Komatsu loved them both fiercely, loved the slow but undeniable change in their relationship, loved how—these moments happened.

Komatsu went to sit in-between them, fine fabric and the brush of Sunny’s hair on one side, a wall of muscle with a metabolism like a furnace on the other, and he felt—safe, in between them, and cherished.

All the more so because they were doing this for  _him_ , they were learning to reconnect—he hoped not just for him, that they were also learning to see in each other common ground, but…

Sunny’s hand was wavering in the air, and when he realized Komatsu was looking, he dropped it, looking away, face pinker than it normally was. And Zebra was—staring fixedly at his hand, expression grim (grimmer) than it normally was.

Not hesitant, exactly, but hesitating, because he didn’t want to—take liberties, chase too hard, push anything on them—Komatsu reached for their hands, Zebra grabbing at his before he’d even raised it, Sunny hesitating even as Komatsu felt the minute resistance that Sunny’s feelers gave when he wanted to let Komatsu know they were there, even before Sunny took his hand as well, graceful but—relieved.

Zebra was smiling the way he almost never did, bright and happy, and it made him look his age—

Heart full to bursting, Komatsu dragged his thumb across the back of Sunny’s hand, twining their fingers together, and then leaning over. Zebra let him lift his hand, unresisting, to kiss the ball of his thumb, a delicate brush of lips. Sunny mirrored him with Komatsu’s own hand, and Zebra leaned against Komatsu, still taking most of his own weight, always so  _careful_  with Komatsu in these little things. Sunny settled himself, too, pinning Komatsu even closer, and they let their hands, still clasped, fall back to rest on Komatsu’s thighs.

He could feel their warmth against him, so happy it prickled at his eyes.


	2. Zebra/Komatsu - Vocal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zebra/Komatsu, from Latenightiridescence's prompt, "Zebra getting sexy with his voice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, accidental invasion of privacy, masturbation. I also headcanon Zebra as demisexual, which might make the story a little more understandable.

Komatsu was doing his best to keep his voice muffled, keeping to choked gasps and muffled whimpers as he stroked his hand down his cock, pants hitched down just around his thighs, back against a tree trunk, a tangle of branches keeping the bright mid-morning sun from hitting his eyes. He could almost imagine that he was leaning against one of the Kings, rough canvas pants instead of bark, one of their hands sliding down his dick and—

"Hey, Komatsu," Zebra asked, his voice hitting Komatsu’s ear—he wasn’t there, but he must still be in range, Komatsu realized, mortified, he’d heard him and—

"I’m sorry Zebra! I didn’t mean to interrupt you—" Komatsu squeaked, going bright red, knowing that Zebra could hear his heart rate speed up even further, and incredibly relieved that he couldn’t see the way his cock jumped at the sound of Zebra’s voice, intimate and rough in his ear,  _there_  even if he wasn’t, physically—he squeezed almost reflexively, and he knew Zebra could hear his gasp, just as surely as he couldn’t control it.

"I know," Zebra said, sounding—off, but maybe it was just embarassment—

"Zebra?" Komatsu had to ask.

"I’m  _sorry!_ " Zebra growled, as demanding as his apologies always were—not intimidating any longer, but Komatsu shuddered anyway. For a different reason.

"I know you can’t help it, I should have… should have waited longer," Komatsu said, breathless. Embarassed, not just because he’d been caught, but because he’d made things worse for Zebra, and—

"—I never wanted," Zebra said, quick and horrified, "—before you, I didn’t want to fuck  _anyone._  Or hug them, or—”

"I’m so sorry," Komatsu said, eyes going horrified, he was—

"—and so I’m  _sorry_  for listening in,” and Zebra sounded  _anguished_  underneath the rough growl of his voice, a baritone you could feel in your bones. “I just wanted, with you, to—and I’m a fucking  _coward_ , I guess, I didn’t  _say_  anything!”

"I want you to," Komatsu said. "If you want—if you don’t  _mind_ , no, but if you want to listen—”

"Komatsu," Zebra said, sounding like he’d been—given a present, or a miracle, and Komatsu thumped his head back against the tree, shuddering.

"Zebra," Komatsu panted, and he could hear—desire in Zebra’s voice, too, when the answer came. "Zebra, will you, could you talk to me?"

"Komatsu," Zebra whispered, repeating himself, and Komatsu didn’t hold back his moan as he stroked himself again.

"Do you want me to tell you what I’m doing?" he asked, getting a desperate hungry noise in return. "I’m thinking of you, Zebra—"


	3. Komatsu/Toriko - Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from justahumanperson: "Toriko/Komatsu and/or Kings/Komatsu first meeting after Komatsu is rescued." I went with Toriko/Komatsu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POTENTIAL SPOILERS THROUGH CHAPTER 263. No other warnings.

The Bishokukai headquarters were in a shambles, half-ruined, the beginnings of inexpert repairs started. Toriko knew that Komatsu had been through the area, he could smell it, faintly—it had been a long time,  _too long_ , thinking about it made him half-wild, filled him with rage that was at least half at himself, and no matter what Jirou had said, there was only so much he could do to control it—

Because Komatsu was still in  _danger_ , Komatsu had gone in but hadn’t left, was he okay? He could smell Komatsu—his tears, the drift of his breath, faint faint traces that even his nose wouldn’t be able to pick up except the smell of his partner was inscribed into his brain, a  _part_  of him woven into his cellular memory.

Komatsu.

Nothing was stopping him. He tore through monsters, lesser assailants, increasingly panicked—the Bishokukai had suffered at the hands of NEO, but why weren’t they putting up more of a fight?

Was Komatsu still there—was Komatsu still alive— Coco didn’t  _know,_  his fortune-telling silent on the matter. Toriko leapt up and up and up, climbing, and then punched through the wall and

_he could smell Komatsu’s cooking_. Relief prickled in his eyes, he slumped over for a moment, just a split second, enemy territory, he was almost there but he wasn’t there  _yet._

Toriko ran, so close, so close and—

He broke through a set of double doors, there were chefs milling around, startling, afraid, combatants ready and waiting for him, a looming presence that made him want to hackle and growl (and the parts of him that had gone still and silent when Komatsu had been ripped away from him, they wanted to turn belly-up and cower), but that  _didn’t matter_.

"Toriko! Toriko-san,  _Toriko-san_!” Komatsu was half-hysterical, running towards him, just making it a few steps before Toriko had him, crossing the distance even faster than he’d known he could, fitting in his arms.  _He couldn’t smell Komatsu's blood_ , he smelled healthy, unhurt, he was gripping Toriko back with his arms, strong, always surprisingly strong, and Toriko was probably gripping too hard but he couldn’t let go, he’d fight his way back out with Komatsu in his arms. And right now, he couldn’t do anything but hold him and echo Komatsu’s sobs and—

Raise his head to growl, dangerous and wild and he was Komatsu’s  _partner_ , nothing would hurt Komatsu again, Toriko would do anything to save him, just as Komatsu had done the same. And chefs had been approaching, looking ready to fight.

"No, no, it’s Toriko, my partner, Toriko, you came for me—"

The chefs backed away, listening to him. It didn't matter, Toriko decided. Nothing mattered except Komatsu in his arms, warm and alive and looking at him like he was soaking it in, absorbing it, Toriko being there, rainfall on parched earth.

"Of course," Toriko said, rough-voiced and raw, through his tears. "Komatsu, Komatsu,  _of course,_ " he had to pull his head away from Komatsu’s shoulder, damp with tears—his pink apron, he’d found one, it looked like a white one hand-dyed, the color irregular even where Toriko hadn’t left wet spots—to smooth his hands over Komatsu’s head, through his hair, looking him over for injury, damage.

"I knew you would, Toriko,  _partner,_ " Komatsu gasped, eyes overflowing again, hands gripping at Toriko’s shirt like he’d never ever let go again.

Then he stopped, suddenly, abruptly, Toriko standing, fluid, a predator again, even though Komatsu was in his arms. Komatsu, who still didn't even so much as flinch away from Toriko’s aura, his intimidation, perfectly trusting in his arms.

"Midora-san!" Komatsu said, wiggling and—he wanted to protect Toriko  _again_ , no, he couldn't, he couldn't lose him, no—

Midora chuckled, voice deep and not quite amused, watching Toriko not-quite-struggle with Komatsu, each trying to defend the other, both of them helpless in the face of a greater power than either of them—for now.

"Midora-san, this is my partner, I can’t—you said I could go—"

"Leave, then," Midora said, voice cool, distant, and Toriko didn't  _understand_.

"—can I cook dinner first?" Komatsu asked, guilty, and Midora paused. His face… Starjun’s face behind it, wincing and guilty when he looked at Toriko. The wide-eyed chefs, wringing dishtowels and hands, crowded around the edges of the room, worried for— _Komatsu_?

Toriko relaxed, abruptly, started to laugh, still tearing up, just a little. Komatsu.  _Komatsu_. Of course.

When he looked up, Midora was—startled, almost shocked, but he nodded.

Komatsu was Toriko’s partner. His other half, his perfect complement.


	4. Komatsu/Ume/Nono/Melk II - Team Tiny Chefs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Stariceling: "Melk visits Komatu and meets Ume and Nono. TEAM TINY CHEFS (Setsuno too, if you like, but TINY CHEFS ALL HAPPY TO SEE MELK PLEASE)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kissing. Extremely poly chefs (and Melk II) figuring things out.

Melk couldn’t stop sneaking glimpses at Komatsu’s knife, the one she’d made for him, hanging at his side—a part of him, and also her, too, now, and he carried it everywhere. She knew how much a knife meant to a chef, and how much Komatsu’s knife meant to  _him_ —it was cherished, until it practically shone with it. She’d put in the skill, and a measure of her feelings for Komatsu, but it was Komatsu that had made the knife especially extraordinary.

Toriko had taken Komatsu’s knife in place of Komatsu, because it was an extension of his body more than it was a tool. Now, Komatsu carred a litle slice of her with him, everywhere. She blushed, filling with pride and pleasure and a certain sort of butterfly-wing nervousness, and looked away.

Nono was watching her, a knowing smile on her face, and Melk blushed a deeper shade of red, embarrassed to be caught smiling, and Nono was—sweet, not as quiet as her but not as chatty as Komatsu and Nakaume, and beautiful, small and strong and graceful. And Komatsu beside her was—they fit, his enthusiasm backed by Nono’s hidden core of metal as strong as any knife that Melk could hope to make. Nakaume with them, optimism and support and—

"You made Komatsu-kun a beautiful knife," Nono said, smiling, and Melk smiled back, letter her hair sweep across her face, hiding—just a little.

"Thank you," Melk said, the dignity of a master craftsman, not—confident in her skills, but learning to be. And then, smiling more deeply, "Chef Komatsu’s knife was extraordinary even before I prepared it, though. He’s—"

"I know," Nono said, her smile deepening, turning to look at Komatsu and Ume, who were sitting comfortably hip-to-hip, talking over a menu. "Komatsu-kun is like that."

Melk nodded, her voice catching in her throat, because it was true. So true. “He’s extraordinary. —He’s told me how extraordinary you are, too, Chef Nono.”

Nono reached out, hesitating just a second, fingers fluttering, finally resting her hand very carefully on Melk’s arm. “Melk-san,” Nono said, and the calm that Melk already found familiar—comforting, something to lean on, and it was… overwhelming, that was what it was, she’d been alone for so  _long_ _,_ her and her silent father, until Komatsu had pushed into her life, loud and outspoken and kind, and now Nakaume, Komatsu’s more careful, shyer echo, and Nono, a flurry of people—but Nono’s calm was faltering.

"Chef Nono?" Melk asked, eyes wide, resisting the urge to shiver, move closer, move away.

"Sorry," Nono said, but her hand stayed where it was, and after a moment, Melk sighed with relief she couldn’t control. She didn’t know—she had no idea—what her expression looked like. Something open, vulnerable, cracking like sea ice in the spring. "I—Komatsu-kun’s told us about you, too, and I almost feel like I know you already. So if I’m too forward—"

Melk tried to speak, cleared her throat, then gave up and just blushed harder. Wordlessly, she put her hand over Melk’s, smaller but just as strong, in its own way. She wondered how Nono’s callouses would match Komatsu’s. She wanted—

"Every chef knows how extraordinary a Melk knife is," Nono said, meeting her eyes, equal parts intense and shy. "I know part of it is  _you_ , Melk-san, in your knives—but it’s more than that.”

"I—yes, you’re—Chef Nono…"

"Melk-san, may I kiss you?"

It was easy to bend down, always amazed how far down, because Nono-san took up as much space as Komatsu, but was physically so small. Harder to kiss her, but Nono’s eyes were shining with—admiration, affection, and her lips were quirked into a quiet, gentle smile that ran as deep as the rest of her, rooted and strong. Melk was uncomfortably aware of her chapped lips against Nono’s, smooth, lingeringly sweet, the faint perfume of Nono’s hair, but—

Nono nipped at her lip, taking the lead, and Melk sighed, shifting closer as Nono tugged her closer, her ponytail slipping forward, puddling on Nono’s shoulder.

"Oh!" Komatsu gasped, closer than Melk expected, and she jumped, startling, and pulled away, biting down too hard on Nono’s lips in her surprise, spilling apologies. "I—oh, Chef Nono! I’m sorry, I didn’t—Chef Komatsu—"

She was embarrassed and in over her head and she knew that Komatsu was close to both Nono and Nakaume, she’d seen them all kiss, and she was—jealous, yes, no not quite, she wanted—she didn’t want to admit to what she wanted.

"I’m sorry for startling you, Melk-san! Nono-chan—" Komatsu looked upset, and behind him, Nakaume just as worried.

"Melk-san—please don’t apologize," Nono said, and Melk’s gaze was torn back to her; Nono reached out to take Melk’s hand between her own, large and calloused, skin dry and rough and— _cherished_. She could feel the warmth of Nono’s hands, the practiced tendon and strong muscle. “Not for me. In fact, I’m sorry if I pushed you.”

"Aren’t the three of you already…?" Melk asked, then trailed off, not wanting to imply something wrong.

"Komatsu-kun! Did you not tell her?" Nono asked, worried, and Komatsu frowned.

"Melk-san, I—I like you, Melk-san!" he blurted out, and Melk felt the air freeze in her lungs. "Also… some other people," Komatsu added, nervous. Of course, it was Komatsu, it was  _Komatsu_ —

"I like you too," Melk said, voice shaking a little but also sure. "Chef Komatsu, I’ve liked you since we met, almost. Chef Nono, I—"

"I’m sorry for rushing things, it was just—" and it was  _Nono’s_  turn to blush. “I wanted to know what your lips tasted like. Melk-san, I want to get to know you better.”

Melk let out a gasp of relief, clinging to Nono’s hand, slumping forward, tension draining out of her in a rush of relief.

"Ume-chan?" Komatsu asked.

Nakaume looked paralyzed, and—wistful, and— “Yes,” Melk said, before she could stop herself, blushing. “I—I’d like to get to know you better too, Chef Nakaume. Over time.”

"Melk-san!" Komatsu cried, reaching towards her, relieved and tearing up—she was tearing up too, smiling through the beginnings of her tears—and she scooped him up into a hug, Nono laughing quietly, smiling wider than Melk had ever seen her smile before, and Nakaume sheepishly slid into the space they’d left for him, the four of them anchored, clinging, strong arms and calloused hands and breath against skin, and Melk knew she fit, she did, even if she was—who she was, even if she was head and shoulders taller, even if she wasn’t a chef, even if she was heir to the great Melk I—it fit, and her heart was so full she thought it might burst, if she wasn’t being held together by encircling arms.


	5. Sunny and Rin - Practice Makes Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from pheasanttail: "Young Sunny and Rin being adorable siblings."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings!

Rin watched, starry-eyed, as her big brother slowly, carefully, his face wrinkled up in concentration, manipulated their dessert into fantastic twisting spirals—sorbet, still an incredible treat, Rin had cried the first time they got something  _sweet_ , not because she was a baby but because it was it had been, it had been strange, that was all, they hadn’t had anything  _sweet_  before, that she remembered, and it had lit up something bright inside her. It was frozen still, just a few drips, and Sunny’s fingers twitched occasionally as he tried to make his still-unfamiliar feelers work right, eyes half-closed as he concentrated, mouth watering as he tasted it without eating it, feeling the cold, almost a phantom sensation but not quite and—

"Pretty!" Rin cried, clapping her hands, eyes glowing. Sunny smiled, flipped his hair—his real hair—over his shoulder with one hand, and started forming the long snakes of frozen dessert into blossoming peonies, or maybe lotuses, sunset-colored and—

"Watch out!" Toriko yelled, running towards them, just barely dodging the edge of the table, smashing into Sunny, tripping, running onward, Zebra in hot pursuit. Concentration shattered, Sunny squeezed down on the sorbet, slicing through it, losing his grip, and their dessert fell, ruined.

Rin stared at it, aghast.

"Sunny’s fault!" Toriko yelled, halfway out of sight. Sunny gasped, affronted—how dare he—but Rin had turned her eyes towards him, horrified.

"No—" Sunny demanded, horrified, but it was too late. Rin burst into tears.


	6. Komatsu and Companions - Animal Antics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Siadea: "OT12, Komatsu and the Kings’ animal companions. Bonus for terrible crow antics and Coco mortification."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up mostly gen. No warnings.

Komatsu jumped and squeaked as a cold wet nose poked at his neck, startling in the warm summer afternoon, sweltering with the heat coming off the cooking fires—even though he could get away with wearing fewer clothes out here, just him and the Kings, who never needed any outward sign, other than the food he served, to show him respect.

"Terry!" Komatsu laughed, turning around, wiping off his hands, deciding that he had time for a break. He couldn’t see the Kings, but he knew they were around—not because of Terry, but because they were careful, he’d say  _t_ _oo_ careful but, well, Komatsu seemed to attract trouble as much as they did, more and more all the time. He buried his hands in the wolf’s thick mane, scratching juuuust right and—Terry’s tail wagged, and the battle wolf, terror of the Gourmet World, collapsed at his feet, and—well, with the size Terry was these days, it put her at face-level with Komatsu. “You’re getting so big!” And then he laughed as Terry licked adoringly at his neck, her tail thumping in the dry ground. “You’re going to get all dirty, Terry—Oh, Kiss!”

Kiss stared him down, and Komatsu smiled—because sometimes Kiss was a little intimidating, but he knew her, really, and she was always—

Terry whined, but only a little, as Kiss shouldered in close, crooning, and took a few strands of Komatsu’s hair—growing out again—and nibbled at it with her murderous beak, she was—she was  _preening_ him?

"Kiss!" Komatsu said, laughing, hesitating just a second before he petted her, the crow chuckling lower in her throat, eyes slipping half-closed, feathers fluffing out in pleasure, and Komatsu laughed, slipping a hand into her loose neck feathers, stroking through the slick-soft mass, gently. “Do you like that?” he asked, thinking so—but it was a lot easier to understand Yun, who was in general a lot—less intimidating?

Terry whined, pushing her head in-between Komatsu and Kiss, wiggling it in and bumping Komatsu back, throwing him onto his butt with a small “oof!” of surprise. “Terry!” he protested, and Kiss bridled, eyes snapping open, feathers going tight, and she nipped at one of Terry’s ears. Terry growled, and Kiss squawked, and Komatsu laughed, sitting up. Terry bounded over to lick his chin and—flop in his lap, and over it, because she’d been too big for that since birth, with Komatsu at least.

“It’s okay, Kiss!” Komatsu said, and Kiss hopped over to wrap him up in a wing, settling next to him, way too hot for the weather, and kind of itchy-tickly as he was enfolded in soft down. “Ack! Kiss—!”

“Kiss!” Coco’s voice called out, a little strangled, and after a moment Komatsu was released—he wiggled his way out from under Terry, and leaned against her side instead, petting her gently, then reaching up to Kiss, who shoved her head into his hands. “Komatsu-kun, I’m sorry, she’s moulting right now and it makes her pushier,” Coco said.

“It’s okay!” Komatsu said cheerfully, smoothing his fingers against the prickle pinfeathers where she couldn’t reach.

Then he blinked as the sun suddenly went away, he’d been thrown into the shade, and that was  _Quinn’s_  head poking down at him, her tongue flicking out curiously. Komatsu swallowed, just a little nervous still, and he really didn’t know how to tell if Quinn was happy or not, she was a  _snake_ , he was still sort of privately amazed that she hadn’t tried to eat him—

What felt like miles of snake wound around him, around them, but it was really only the first couple hundred feet, cool against him, Quinn’s giant head watching him. He patted her—she probably couldn’t even feel it.

Kiss hopped up onto Quinn, claws scratching against hard scales, and Quinn hissed, and Terry growled, shifting. Komatsu leaned against a heavy coil of Quinn, and her head shifted in close, bumping against him, gaze cool and alien, and he had no idea what she was doing—if she wanted to eat him, he was less than a mouthful for her—but she did it again, pushing against his chest, very gently.

Eyes wide, Komatsu patted her again, and she turned her head up, to expose the soft, fine scales of her throat, the flexible skin. Carefully, Komatsu petted her. “Quinn! You’re so soft— and pretty,” he amended hastily as she flexed a little, then relaxed, apparently mollified. “You are,” he added. “I—Kiss!”

Kiss was nibbling off one of his buttons, almost cooing around her prize as she fished it off. Quinn hissed at the crow, low and loud and absolutely threatening, and Komatsu sighed, flopping against her head, marveling at the smoothness of her scales. Kiss moved over, settled down to start preening his hair again, and Terry started licking him again, big swipes of her tongue catching Quinn’s scales and half Komatsu’s leg, sleepy and dangerous and content. Komatsu wasn’t afraid of her teeth, knowing he was safe with her—knowing that, really, he was safe with Kiss, with Quinn.

Monstrous thudding noises interrupted his peaceful time petting Quinn, and—Komatsu looked up and up and  _up_ , and Zebra’s Dharma horse leaned down and down and down—and waited, huge, too huge—but Kiss was unconcerned, still preen Komatsu’s hair delicately, and Terry was alert but not at all wary, and Quinn was sliding her head against his shoulder, so Komatsu reached out and petted the Dharma horse delicately on the nose, amazed.


	7. Komatsu/Buranchi - Making Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from lazy-rain-dancer: "Fluffy Buranchi/Komatsu, cooking together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swearing (lots of it, thanks Buranchi) and kissing.

They’d managed to find a kitchen to rent. Commandeer. They had ingredients to cook, perishables, both of them were impatient—Buranchi was just louder about it—and they were a long way from their own kitchens. But when faced with Chefs Buranchi and Komatsu, the owner of the restaurant they’d found had been eager to hand over the keys for a day, or at least pretended eagerness when Buranchi was smiling at him, and looming, and cracking his knuckles. The head chef had been star-struck, and thrilled. Also terrified, but Komatsu had still insisted on offering to rent the space, and he was—Komatsu.

Buranchi was too tall for the room, and Komatsu was too short. But Komatsu, at least, was clearly used to working in wrong-sized kitchens. Normally, Buranchi would just refuse, but—

"We can make this work!" Komatsu exclaimed, rolling up his sleeves, determined and excited. "Right?"

"Of course," Buranchi said, with a wide grin, dazzling and overpowering and—maybe he was showing off a little. But (his smile deepened, Komatsu smiling back automatically) it wasn’t like it was bragging when it was all  _true_. And Komatsu was—different, but just as great. “It’s us.”

"Working with you is always wonderful!" Komatsu said, cheery, enthusiastic, and that—

Hah. Komatsu. “Fucking hell, Komatsu! I’m awful at working with shitty loser chefs—you make this work.”

"Buranchi-san! You shouldn’t say that about the other chefs—"

"What’d I tell you about  _calling_  me that?”

Komatsu crossed his arms and frowned, pointedly, and Buranchi wanted to laugh—not amused, so much as  _giddy_. Because Komatsu wasn’t afraid of him, Komatsu fought back—on the little things—Komatsu was  _magnificent_ , and he made things worked differently.

Even if he had a fucking awful view of his own skills. “Look, Komatsu, you’re—fuck it, we’re working  _together_ , it’s not like—”

"I want to be respectful!" Komatsu said, meaning it, bone-deep, not out of fear or a desire to curry favor, Buranchi usually threatened to gut anyone who did that to him and then fry them as tempura, but Komatsu, he meant it. He cared. It was amazing.

“ **Komatsu!** " Buranchi shouted, because he wasn’t going to be intimidated, even if it was Komatsu. He kept it quiet enough to not do anything more than rattle the windows and the door—Komatsu wasn’t strong like that, like hell he’d be responsible for breaking his eardrums if  _Zebra_  had managed to keep himself from doing that.

"—Buranchi-kun?" Komatsu said, and Buranchi narrowed his eyes, growling, leaning in close—and down—to glare Komatsu in the eye, threatening and powerful and— he had to laugh, Komatsu blinking in surprise. "Eh?  _Ahh?_  —Buranchi-kun!”

"Never change," Buranchi said, clapping Komatsu on the shoulder, and then hesitating a moment too long. Komatsu—he touched people all the time, like it was like breathing, reflexive and thoughtless and necessary. And it had been a long time since Buranchi had had anyone touch him.

Komatsu let his hand rest on Buranchi’s, small and light and warm and—calloused, hard-working,  _strong_.

"—that’ll do," Buranchi said, belatedly, clearing his throat, looking away, suddenly feeling awkward, out of place, even if having Komatsu at there also, simultaneously, settled him, welcomed him.

"Buranchi-kun," Komatsu said, a little withdrawn, and he— "Sorry in advance!"

"Sorry? The  _fuck_  are you saying—” Buranchi started, looking back at Komatsu, confused, and Komatsu—pulled him into a hug, that was normal, Buranchi was uneasy but it was Komatsu hugging him, so he got down on his knees. To make it easier. …Komatsu was just too damn short. And he could fix that, so grinning, Buranchi whirled around, too fast for Komatsu to even react, setting Komatsu on the counter—

"Buranchi-kun!"

"We can wash the counters," Buranchi grumbled, glad that he couldn’t see Komatsu’s face, that Komatsu couldn’t see his. …He hoped that that was what Komatsu was complaining about. It was just a  _counter_ , it wasn’t like Buranchi was unhygienic—he stood on his own fucking counters, but he washed them afterwards. It was just convenient sometimes. And now he could hold Komatsu without bending. Without bending as far. “You’re just too damn short.”

"Buranchi-kun," Komatsu said, serious enough that Buranchi let go, moved away and—stopped, Komatsu’s hand on his arm. "Come here?" And he tugged on his jacket, pulling him in again—

"What the hell?" Buranchi was saying, as Komatsu leaned in and cupped Buranchi’s face with his hands and hesitated just a second before tipping his head to the side and leaning in to brush a kiss against his mouth, blushing almost as red as Buranchi. "—the  _fuck_?”

Komatsu looked scared, not—of Buranchi, but more scared than he should and. And Buranchi was cooking in a too-small kitchen for this man, and going out to gather ingredients with him, teaching him some of his secrets, he knew Komatsu was his equal the way he hadn’t before, and… and…

"You call that a kiss?" he demanded, and when Komatsu lit up, eyes going bright behind—fuck—the beginnings of tears,  _then_  he could lean in and kiss him again, hard and demanding and—damn it—waiting for Komatsu, to figure out what he liked, memorizing the taste of him.


	8. Coco/Komatsu - Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from kingcarp: "Komatsu/Coco learning the taste of each other’s skin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kissing, implications of NSFW activities.

Komatsu leaned into Coco as his boyfriend came up behind him, a hand on his shoulder—automatically, now, Coco was starting to reach out to Coco without thinking about it, without hesitating, and every time Coco touched him without worrying about it, Komatsu’s heart soared. He wasn’t afraid of Coco, he—wanted to make Coco not afraid of himself. Wanted to show him everything he was, strong and quiet and kind and funny and strategic—

The soup could see to itself for a while, so Komatsu turned to press an open-mouthed kiss to Coco’s hand, feeling him start, then just as immediately restrain himself, and that let him smile into the kiss, a little silly-looking, maybe, but Coco like that about him. Most of the time.

"Komatsu? What  _are_ you—”

"I wanted to know what you tasted like!" Komatsu said, wiggling around to wrap his arms (part-way) around Coco, smiling up at him.

Coco hesitated, his face suddenly empty, blank, diminished. “Do I taste—” he began, very carefully, and…

No. No no no. Komatsu took his hand and turned it over, to lick at his palm, a little messy—normally Coco would protest—scraping just lightly with his teeth. “Coco—I want to learn the taste of your skin,” Komatsu said, not so much seductive as—straightforward,  _meaning it_. “How  _you_  taste, Coco!”

Slowly, Coco sank to his knees, eyes wide, face so vulnerable that it lit a sympathetic ache in Komatsu’s heart, made him want to reach out and hold Coco,  _protect him_ , because he needed it, he needed—

Just as slowly, Komatsu leaned in to lick glancingly over Coco’s lips, moving to sigh into the delicate skin at the line of his jaw, sucking lightly—then a peck at the tip of his nose, to make him huff a laugh, surprised, happy—back to the tips of his fingers, Coco’s hands because Coco sometimes thought of them as weapons—

Komatsu stopped, looking up. “Is that okay?”

"—If I can taste you back," Coco said, voice rough, and Komatsu nodded eagerly. Coco kissed his throat, the point of each clavicle, hands busy behind Komatsu’s back—untying his apron, pushing up his shirt, then pressing a long kiss to the skin over his heart, his eyes closed. They almost never were—he saw so much, Komatsu knew.

"Coco, you’re wearing too many clothes!" Komatsu told him, almost gently, and that made Coco laugh again, shaking his head—something about Komatsu’s impatience, his directness—but that didn’t matter. And it mattered less with Coco’s clothes off, Komatsu between his legs on the kitchen floor, dizzy with the taste of him, memorizing it, infinitely precious.


End file.
